The Living Room

He’s sitting in his sitting-room and he’s having another drink
The way it works is alcohol somehow helps him to think
He’s sitting with no sense of time, no sound and just one light
He knows he’s going crazy or going somewhere that ain’t right.

He’s sitting in his sitting room defending all he does
He’s got another drink again and thinks on who he was
But nothing ever changes his life is all the same
There’s no reward there’s no forward there’s only empty pain.

He reflects on what he’s got and what he’s lost
He doesn’t even contemplate the cost
He’s well aware his life is fading pretty soon…
In his living room.
And who can argue what and maybe when
But who can do it now then again and again
Who can do it to the end of ruin…
In the living room.

He’s sitting in his sitting room and he dreams of pouring rain
He didn’t even notice life is now a simple blame game
And what to do and how to do it permeate his brain
He doesn’t want back to how it was where everything’s the same.